


By Raven

by sneetchstar



Series: Gendrya Month April 2020 [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Letters, Lost prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Girl and Boy meet.  Girl and Boy get along.  Girl and Boy are separated.  Girl and Boy correspond.  "Pen Pals" prompt for Gendrya Month 2020
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Gendrya Month April 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690471
Comments: 27
Kudos: 161





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For Gendrya Month 2020. The theme for the second week is "Pen Pals"

-Four Moons Ago-

Ned Stark and his daughters Sansa and Arya were in King’s Landing for only three months by the time the truth came crashing down on Cersei and Jaime Lannister.

They were not only caught together in a very compromising position by King Robert and Ned Stark themselves, but some digging revealed that the three royal children were not Robert’s children at all.

Cersei was executed the very next day for the crime of high treason. Jaime managed to escape from the dungeons and disappear without a trace during the night. The guard that assisted him paid the price, his head posted on a pike beside Cersei’s.

“What is to be done about the children?” Ned asked Robert the next day. Fearing he already knows what his longtime friend would say, he headed him off. “They should not be punished for the sins of their parents. Even Joffrey, insufferable shit that he is, cannot help the circumstances of his birth.”

“I do not care what you do with them. Just… get them out of here,” Robert had huffed, reaching for his goblet.

Ned snatched it away before he can reach it. “No more of this,” he sternly said. “It’s time to start acting like a king instead of a drunken letch.”

Robert stood, suddenly in a fury. “How dare you!”

“Sit down!” Ned roared. The uncharacteristic behavior stunned the king, and he heavily sat back down. “Now. I suggest we send Joffrey to Casterly Rock, on the condition that there he shall stay. He can be his grandfather’s problem,” Ned suggested. Robert grunted, almost sounding like a laugh. “Myrcella is a problem. I shall send a raven to Dorne to see if they will still honor her betrothal to Trystane. She is still of noble blood from a great house, even if she is no longer a princess.” He pauses while Robert nods. “Tommen is just a little boy, still very young. We will foster him in Winterfell and make sure he grows into a good an honorable man.”

Robert looked up at him. “Why?”

“Because he deserves a chance,” Ned simply replied.

“Cat won’t mind?”

“Theon has gone back to the Iron Islands to reconcile with his family. Jon is at the Wall. The girls are here with me. Honestly, she could use the company, especially with Bran…”

Robert nodded. “And if Dorne wants to return Myrcella?”

“She is welcome in Winterfell as well. I daresay Cat would welcome another girl who is interested in being a proper Lady. I fear she has given up on Arya,” he said with a smile.

  
-Three Moons Ago-

“What am I to do about an heir?” Robert had suddenly asked. “I will not marry again. No discussion.”

“Well, that question is… more easily answered than you may realize,” Ned answered. “I will meet you in your solar in an hour.”

“Ned, what is this about?” Robert asked Ned’s retreating back. “Ned!”

“You need to learn patience, Robert,” Ned merely replied, then disappeared.

He returned an hour later with a young man. He was tall and broad, grim-faced, black of hair, and blue of eye.

“By the gods it’s like looking into the past!” Robert exclaimed. Then when he noticed young Arya Stark trailing in behind her father, his eyes widened further. “The Stranger take me,” he whispered.

“Robert, thing young man is called Gendry. He’s—”

“My son,” Robert finished, standing and walking over to the scowling lad.

“As near as we can figure, Gendry is your oldest male offspring,” Ned explained.

“You shouldn’t talk about people like they’re not here,” Arya commented, always bolder than she should be.

Robert’s eyes flew down to the petite girl, who had a scowl to match his newfound son’s. He opened his mouth but Ned cut him off.

“She’s right,” he said, then turned to Gendry. “Forgive me, lad. I know this must be quite the shock to you.”

“What is the meaning of all this?” Gendry asked.

Robert put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder. “Well, my boy—”

Gendry jerked away. “I’m not your boy. You fucked my mum, planted your seed, then fucked off.”

Robert stared for a moment, then his face broke into a broad grin. “You are definitely my son.”

“You may have sired me, but I am not your _son_. That is something that has to be earned now,” Gendry said, nearly growling. Beside him, he could see Arya fervently nodding her agreement. “See? She agrees with me!”

“I do,” she said. “A father is supposed to be there for his children. How many bas—”

“Arya,” Ned’s calm voice stops her next words. “We will discuss that later.”

“Why are you even here, child?” Robert asked.

“Gendry is my friend. I met him a few weeks ago, and when I saw Father bringing him into the castle, I decided I needed to protect him,” she proudly said.

This time Robert stared at Arya for a long moment. “I’m sure he feels comforted,” he said at length, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

“I do. Arya is twice the man you’ll ever be,” Gendry said. Then he furrowed his brow. “Wait…”

“The sentiment is correct, even if the details are a bit muddled,” Ned commented, chuckling a bit. Then he turned serious again. “Robert, Gendry is a good lad. Strong, smart, hard working. He knows his letters—”

“Not well,” Gendry interjected.

“—and his master said he is very good with sums. As I said, he is likely your oldest male offspring, and I think he has the makings of a fine ruler one day,” Ned finished.

“Do I get a say in this?” Gendry asked.

“I’m afraid our options are quite limited, son. I’m sorry,” Ned answered.

“He can’t find some other poor unwitting lady to marry and get a babe in her legitimately?” Gendry pressed.

“I won’t,” Robert said, his tone final. “None of the available ladies left of marriageable age could be considered ‘unwitting’ anyway. My reputation has been poisoned,” he added in a low voice.

“You did that yourself,” Arya immediately shot back.

“Arya!” Ned scolded, more surprised than angry.

“No, she’s right, Ned,” Robert sighed.

All eyes turned to Gendry, who was looking rather pale and overwhelmed.

He looked down at Arya, who looked up at him with concern written all over her face. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before declaring, “I’ll help you.”

  
-Two Moons Ago-

“Ah, Ned! There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” Robert said, striding up to his friend the Hand. In the two months since Cersei’s death, he has regained some of his health and managed to lose some of his considerable bulk.

“Yes. I… need to speak to you, Your Grace,” Ned replied.

“Your Grace?” Robert repeated, eyebrows rising. “Why the formalities?”

“We should speak in private,” Ned said, guiding Robert into his solar.

“What’s this about then?” Robert asked, sitting. “Are your family’s travel preparations going as planned?”

Ned sat across from him. “Yes… and no,” he answered. “They’ll still be leaving in a sennight. And I will be going with them.”

“What? You… you can’t leave! You are Hand of the King!”

“Robert, we both know I am not cut out for this life. I do not have the cunning required to effectively play at politics,” he said. “And I am needed at Winterfell. My people there need me.”

“I need you here,” Robert argued.

“I have a newly-crippled son, Robert. My family needs me more,” Ned countered.

“I suppose you already have a suggestion for your replacement?” Robert asked.

“I do.”

“Let’s have it then.”

“Tyrion Lannister.”

“That grotesque imp? Absolutely not!”

“Hear me out,” Ned said, expecting this reply. “He’s really the perfect person to be your Hand. Not only is he exceedingly intelligent, he also has the cunning and craftiness necessary to deal with the likes of Littlefinger and Varys.”

“I… suppose you are correct,” Robert allowed.

“Also,” Ned leaned forward, preparing to play his trump card, “Cersei _loathed_ him and so does Tywin. He will be furious about the appointment; even consider it an insult.”

“And he is helpless to stop it,” Robert concluded with a nod. Tywin quickly learned that Joffrey being restricted to Casterly Rock meant that he was restricted to Casterly Rock, since the first thing the former prince did when he arrived was make it clear that he only listens to his grandfather.

“Indeed,” Ned agreed, standing.

It is then Robert noticed Ned was not wearing his Hand sigil. “You’ve already asked him, haven’t you?”

“I have, and he consented. He will be here to meet with you within the hour,” Ned answered, then headed for the door.

A week later, the Stark family plus Tommen Lannister were gathered outside the doors to the Red Keep, and no one really took notice of Arya quietly talking with the new heir to the Iron Throne.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, looking up at him, willing the tears to stay in her eyes where they belong.

“I’ll miss you more,” Gendry replied. “You’re the only friend I have, you know.”

“Your fault,” she teased, and he chuckled and looked down at his feet. Her small hand on his brought his gaze back to her. “We can correspond still. We have ravens.”

“Are you sure you want to? You’re going to be back in your home, with your family and friends…”

“You’re my friend, too, Gendry. You’re my family, too.”

“I am?” he asked his eyes widening.

“You are. I’ll send you a raven as soon as I get home. I promise,” she said, not mentioning that she sometimes feels as out of place in her home as he does in his.

He looked down at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. She’s younger than he is, but not a child; 15 years to his (he thinks) 19. He’s always been fond of her quick wit, but he’s not sure how he missed how wide and bright her silver-gray eyes are. Or how her gentle smile warms his heart. Or how her laugh never fails to make him smile, no matter how low he feels. She is beautiful, and he didn’t see it.

And now she is leaving. He sighed, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Safe travels, m’lady,” he said, his voice soft and hoarse. Then he turned away to stand beside his father to officially see the Starks off.

“Don’t call me that,” Arya whispered, finally allowing a tear to roll down her cheek.


	2. Now

_Dear Prince Gendry,_

_We are finally home, and, as promised, I am writing. I wanted to write straight away, because I knew you were waiting, but Mother made me unpack first and now it is very late._

_The trip home was uneventful, which is good, but that also means it was boring. Interestingly, Sansa and I have started to get along a little better since the scandal. She confessed to me that she quickly learned Joffrey’s true nature and no longer wished to be married to him, so she was quite relieved to be free of him. But now she is fearful of being betrothed again, and I don’t blame her, because I don’t fancy being betrothed at all. Not to someone who is not my choice, anyway. Women are people, not property to be bought and sold. I try telling Father that, and I know he loves me and hears my words, but sometimes I don’t think he truly listens to them. Tradition is very important to my parents. I don’t know if Robert is the same way or not, but it might just be a Northern trait. All I know is keeping traditions for no other reason than they are traditions is a stupid practice. Times change, people change, and traditions can change as well._

_But enough of my ranting. You are probably glad to be free of my diatribes (that’s a fancy word for “ranting”). But is it too much to hope that you will remember some of my words when you are king and have the power to change things? Is that presumptuous of me? I hope not._

_(Presumptuous means getting ideas above your station.)_

_Tommen seems to be overwhelmed by all this. I’m not sure he’s old enough to really understand everything that has happened. I hope he and my brother Brandon will get on. Bran is only a little older than Tommen. They could grow to be almost like brothers the way Theon and Robb did. The fact that he’s very young is a good thing, I think. That means he hasn’t had the time to turn into a cunt like Joffrey._

_I do hope Bran doesn’t feel like we brought Tommen home with us to replace him, since he is crippled now. I shall have to talk with him soon._

_I am getting very tired, and I am sure you can see my already-poor penmanship is suffering for it. And I want to send this raven yet tonight, so I will bid you goodnight._

_Goodnight, Gendry, and I hope you are doing well. Don’t forget to study hard (you don’t want those awful Lords to be able to look down at you – you’re 100 times better than all of them combined) and stand sideface when you spar with a sword, like I taught you._

  
_Your friend,_

_Arya Stark_

xXx

Arya rolls up the parchment and seals it with wax, then creeps out of her room, walking on silent feet like Syrio taught her. She creeps through the familiar corridors of her home until she reaches the tower where the ravens are kept. She doesn’t bother waking Maester Luwin; she knows what she’s doing. Also, it’s none of his business.

She finds the raven she wants – her favorite, a large bird with shiny black feathers and shiny black eyes. “Hello, Edgar,” she greets, stroking his head with a single finger while she attaches the scroll. Then she gives him a few kernels of corn for his trouble, and once he’s eaten those, she sends him on his way.

xXx

“A raven came for you, your grace.” Grand Maester Pycelle’s voice is rarely a welcome sound for Gendry, but this is the best news he’s heard in over a month.

He stands from his desk, grateful to put his studying aside for a few minutes, and takes the scroll from the old man.

When he looks down at it, he frowns. The edges of the dark gray seal don’t quite match up with the stain left on the parchment from it. “This seal has been tampered with,” he says, fixing the Grand Maester in his steely glare.

After a tense moment, he breaks. “The king wished to know who was sending you correspondence, your grace,” he admits.

“My correspondence is none of the king’s business,” Gendry snaps, heading for the doors to his chambers.

“I did not read it. Only the name of the sender,” Pycelle says, following him out at a considerably slower pace.

“Don’t care,” Gendry shoots over his shoulder.

He stalks to the throne room, where his father is actually sitting and hearing petitions. He’s been doing it more and more, always with Tyrion nearby, and the people have really begun responding to the new version of their previously uninterested king.

Luckily, the current petitioners are just leaving. Gendry strides forward, ignoring the protests from the guards, and places a gentle hand on the shoulder of the woman now standing in front of the king.

“Excuse me, good woman. I just need to speak a few words in my father’s ear,” he apologizes. The woman is so stunned the crown prince touched and spoke to her that she merely nods.

“Ah, Gendry, my lad, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Robert booms, smiling broadly.

His smile fades as Gendry continues forward, ascending the dais, his face stony. “How dare you,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice low, as he brandishes the tampered scroll. “This is not addressed to you.”

“Like it or not, you are my son. Your business is my business,” Robert quietly replies.

“I may be your offspring, but I am of age and am allowed my own correspondence,” Gendry says. “I have been learning the laws of this land and likely know them better than you by now. You do not have a right to my private correspondence if I am of age.”

“He’s right, your grace,” Tyrion mutters.

Robert’s eyes briefly flicker to his Hand, then return to Gendry. “I merely wished to know who would be writing from Winterfell. I should have known it was her.” Thankfully, there is no judgment or insinuation in his voice.

“You might have tried _asking_ me,” Gendry snaps.

“Forgive me,” Robert finally says. “I am still trying to do better. This will not happen again.”

“I forgive you,” Gendry replies. “And you had better hope it does not happen again.”

Then he schools his features, something Arya had been teaching him how to do before she left, turns around and heads back down the dais. Beside the waiting woman, he pauses and turns back to his father.

“Whatever this woman wants, she gets,” he says. “Thank you for being patient,” he adds, giving her a small smile before heading out again, now anxious to read his letter.

xXx

_My Lady Arya_

_I am glad you did not write anything too personal or ~~contra~~ controversial in your letter. My father had Pycelle open it to see who sent it and he claims they only looked at the name at the bottom but I do not trust either of them yet. Especially that ancient fart Pycelle. He was favored highly by Cersei and I do not trust anyone that was under her thumb._

_They have promised me that it will not happen again. I will believe that only when it comes to pass._

_That aside I was very happy to read that you had arrived safely in Winterfell even if the journey was boring. I am sorry there were no bandits for you to stab with your tiny sword._

_I’m still not sure how I feel about all of this. Not that I have a choice in the matter. I still can’t get used to the soft bed. The rich food has finally stopped disagreeing with my stummac and I’m glad of that. I will admit I do like the baths. After having to heat water in a pot and wash with a cloth my whole life sitting my whole body in a tub of hot water is really nice. ~~Espe~~ More so now that it has gotten a little colder._

_Lessons are not as much fun without you. I am still keeping to them don’t worry. I know how important it is for me to be the best I can at everything because of the people who might not be happy about me being made a prince when I should still be a blacksmith._

_I miss it sometimes. Smithing. I could control that. I knew how to make the metal do what I wanted. People are much more difficult and pounding them doesn’t always work._

_That was a joke._

_But I do miss the simpleness of being a commoner. I am beginning to understand what you once told me about how being a noble isn’t that great. How you don’t always get choices and are expected to act a certain way. How you can’t just call someone a cunt if they’re being a cunt._

_My sword training is getting better but I think you could still beat me. I have ~~discov~~ found out that I have a fair amount of natural skill with a warhammer. It makes sense since I have been hammering on metal for as long as I can remember. Then I found out that Robert’s weapon of choice is a warhammer. I don’t know how I feel about that but since I’m good at it I’ll keep working on it._

_That would be an intresting sparring session. Me with a warhammer and you with your Needle. I think I’d be afraid of sending you flying with it._

_My tutor is coming soon so I had better finish this. Please tell me what mistakes I made in my writing so I can do better. I liked the way you defined the words you thought I wouldn’t know. You were right I didn’t know them._

_Write soon. I miss you._

  
_Yours_

_Gendry_

xXx

Arya smiles at the letter but idly wonders at the way he chose to sign off. Just “Yours.” _Is he mine?_ she can’t help thinking.

She bites her lower lip and picks up her quill.

_Dear Gendry,_

_Business first: The correct spellings are stomach and interesting. And I’m guessing the words you crossed out because you couldn’t figure out how to spell them were especially and discovered. But well done on spelling controversial correctly!_

_“Simpleness” isn’t a word. The word you were looking for there is “simplicity.”_

_And you forgot that commas exist again. Don’t make me send a separate raven to your tutor, because I will._

_It has been really boring here. The only excitement is that Father has made a match for Sansa with Willas Tyrell, but that’s not terribly exciting to me. Sansa seems happy about it. She was understandably nervous after Joffrey, but Lady Olenna Tyrell herself sent her a raven telling her that Willas was nothing like “that insufferable beast Joffrey” (her exact words) and she would be treated well in Highgarden._

_Father and Mother both assured Sansa that Lady Olenna’s words are trustworthy, she is above reproach, and is one of the most highly respected Ladies in the Seven Kingdoms._

_(Reproach is kind of like disappointment. So it means she won’t disappoint you and you can definitely believe what she says.)_

_I hope to meet Lady Olenna one day. I think we would probably get on quite well. Maybe at the wedding._

_Sansa will be leaving for Highgarden in two weeks, and she is very excited. I am happy for her, even if she gets annoying about it from time to time. Her notions (ideas) about romance aren’t what they once were, and I think that’s healthy for her. She’s more realistic now and doesn’t long for a knight to sweep her off her feet like they do in the songs and stories. She just wants someone who will treat her well and be her friend. Someone she can hope to one day love the way our father and mother do. She deserves happiness, and I hope she finds it in Highgarden._

_The only problem now is Septa Mordane is teaching her about what is to happen in her marriage bed, and Mother has decided that I should be a part of those lessons as well. I honestly fail to see how a Septa can speak with any authority about marital relations when she’s never had them herself._

_When I said that to her, she sent me out and I had to tell Mother. Which then meant I had to hear about these things from her, which was somehow worse, because then I found myself picturing her and Father together. That’s not something any child wants to imagine._

_I don’t know why I told you all that about the lessons. But I don’t want to start a new letter and waste parchment, and also don’t feel like re-writing all the other things I already wrote. So I guess since I had to unwillingly imagine my parents fucking, you do too now. Sorry._

_If you’re wondering why Sansa isn’t being betrothed you, which would have been an obvious match, she asked not to be. I promise it has nothing to do with you. She thinks you are a fine young man, but simply does not think she could stand being back in King’s Landing again. Not for any great length of time, anyway. Father was sympathetic to her plea, and assured her she would not have to return there to become your bride._

_Oh – Father has found someone who is able to continue my sword training. I like that very much. It occupies the time I would have previously spent practicing sewing, and we both know which Needle I prefer using. I don’t know how or why Mother decided she no longer had a problem with my training, but I’m not going to question it. I think it has something to do with Bran’s accident. Maybe she has decided that we should be happy being who we want to be instead of trying to make us what we are not because life is fleeting._

_This is about to take a grim turn, so I will move on._

_Actually, I have no other information of interest to pass along, and if I keep writing, my raven will no longer be able to carry this scroll._

_I hope you continue well and healthy, and do try not to pound too many people._

_I miss you, too._

  
_Yours,_

_Arya_

xXx

As Arya sends the raven on its way, she has a brief moment of insecurity over the informality of her letter. Gendry said that Robert and Pycelle promised they wouldn’t read any more of his correspondence, but, like him, she is suspicious (and thinks he likely would have used that word, but did not want to even attempt to spell it).

Too late now.

xXx

Gendry smiles at Arya’s latest letter as he reads it, his finger tracing the words as he goes. Her small, cramped handwriting is difficult to read even for those experienced with their letters, and he has found that following the words with his finger helps him keep his place.

He frowns halfway through. He hadn’t even considered that his father might have wanted him to marry Sansa. He has no issue with her, but she never interested him. Sansa Stark may be everything a proper Lady should be, but… Gendry isn’t exactly a proper prince.

They are so vastly different he cannot even imagine what it would be like to be married to her.

Arya, on the other hand… _No. Best not to even travel down that road._

He sets the letter down, deciding to go to the smithy and clear his mind for a bit before writing back.

xXx

_Dear Arya,_

_Thank you for your help with my writing. I had my tutor explain commas to me again and I think I understand them now. Once I told him that you wanted me to ask, he was more than happy to acomodate me._

_I don’t think I spelled that correctly. But I’ve used two commas already._

_I have good news. Robert has agreed to let me continue practicing my smithing in the forge here in the Keep. I told him how much I enjoyed the work and explained how it helped keep me strong. I also mentioned that it would keep me out of the brothels, just because I thought it would sway him. I have never seen the inside of a brothel and have no intention of doing so._

_I just returned from the smithy, in fact. I was doing mindless repair work to clear my head but am thinking of crafting a new warhammer for myself. I have a few ideas I will need to draw before I can begin._

_I confess I laughed when I read about your unfortunate lesson with your Septa. I have had no such lessons myself, so maybe they think a gutter rat like myself already knows all he needs about marital relations._

_I don’t, but I’m not going to tell them that. When the day comes when I am to be betrothed, I think I will ask Tyrion if I find I have questions. That day does not have to come any time soon either._

_It has been rather boring since you left. We heard from Tywin Lannister and I think he’s ready to kill Joffrey. Robert said something like “kill the little cunt, see if I care” and I actually laughed. It was all very strange._

_He’s trying, but I don’t think he really knows what to do. The problem is, neither do I. He was never much of a father to those other three, and I’ve never had a father. And now I am a man grown and do not have much need for fathering. But he is trying and I admit I need to try to let him try._

_The fact that he is trying shows that he has changed from who he was before the scandal. He’s also all but given up the drink and Tyrion tells me his womanizing has stopped as well. We cannot decide if he is growing or if he is broken._

_I visited my old master Tobho Mott a short time ago, and he told me that Robert and I need to find some sort of common ground. Something we can agree on, or something we both like to do to start out with. Master Mott was more of a father to me than anyone, and I was glad that he had some words of ~~advise~~ advice for me._

_Servants have been coming in and out while I write, drawing a bath for me since I am sweaty and sooty from the forge and should not appear for dinner in this state. Especially because we have guests. Lady Lysa Arryn and her son, who I was told is called Robert but she insists on calling him Sweetrobin, are here. Robert wished for them to visit so he could offer his apologies for the death of her husband. Apparently Cersei had him killed because he found out about her and Jaime._

_It is a nice gesture on his part but they are insufferable. I know they are your kin, but I am certain you would not like them if you met them. She is a shrill, spoiled woman who seems a little crazy. And he is even more spoiled because she treats him like a babe when he is likely 10 years old._

_My bath is ready now, so I shall end this letter. I will try not to ponder drowning myself in my tub in an attempt to avoid dinner with Lady Arryn and her boy._

_You may think that sounds extreme, but if you knew them you would know it is not._

_I hope you are not too cold up in Winterfell. I still miss you._

  
_Yours,_

_Gendry_

xXx

_Dear Gendry,_

_The correct spelling is accommodate. Your comma usage was much improved as well._

_And you are definitely not a gutter rat and never were!_

_I have not met my aunt and cousin, but I believe you. Mother has even said that Aunt Lysa was spoiled. I hope they were not too trying as guests, and I hope you did not drown yourself in your tub._

_It has been quite hectic (that means crazy and busy) here. Bran woke up screaming again two nights ago. He does that a lot since his accident, but this time it was different. I was the first to reach him, since my room is closest, but when Mother and Father reached us, he was gasping, “I know… I know…”_

_He remembered what happened to him. He was climbing the abandoned tower, like he always used to do. He was always as sure-footed as a mountain goat and loved to climb. Never fell before, ever. Which is why we were so suspicious when he fell._

_He didn’t fall. He saw Jaime and Cersei together ( together) in the room at the top of the tower. Then they spotted him. He said they argued about him and he was frozen in place, in shock. Then Jaime said, “The things I do for love,” and pushed him off the tower._

_Jaime Lannister is responsible for my brother no longer being able to use his legs. Because Bran caught him fucking his own sister. They probably hoped he would die. I’m sure they hoped he would die, because they later sent an assassin to finish the job, but Mother stopped him._

_I’m so angry that I want to dig up Cersei’s dead body so I can kill her again. I never ask anything of anyone, Gendry, but if Jaime is ever found, please try your hardest to have him sent here. Tell him the North Remembers._

_Bran seems to be a little better since he remembered. He was never quite himself since then, and none of us could really blame him. He loved climbing. He wanted to be a knight. Now he can do neither, and feels like he is a burden._

_Tommen has been very good for him though. He treats him no differently than he treats anyone else, and I think Bran is grateful for it. Bran is usually carried around by Hodor, who used to be a stable boy but now his job is carrying Bran around. Hodor is simpleminded but huge (bigger than you by quite a bit), and his demeanor is sweet. Tommen likes him too. Hodor will carry Bran in a basket on his back and Tommen in his arms and walk and run like he is completely unburdened, exclaiming, “Hodor!” as he goes._

_That’s the only thing he can say._

_We know that one day Bran will be too old to want Hodor to carry him, and we are making preparations for that. Our smith, Mikken, is working on designs for a wheeled chair similar to the one Prince Doran Martell is said to have. Then Bran will have his own throne that he can take with him everywhere he goes._

_I’m sorry to cut this short, but I am still very angry about Jaime Lannister and I am having difficulty clearing my head enough to write. But I needed to let you know about this revelation, and I had already waited too long to write again (I am so sorry; I have been exhausted)._

_I still miss you too. A lot._

  
_Yours,_

_Arya_

  
_P.S. I am disappointed that you and Robert (well, mostly you) won’t be able to make it to Highgarden for Sansa’s wedding, but I understand and agree with your need to stay in King’s Landing. Father said the flooding from that storm has finally abated (that means it has gone down), but I know how important it is to you to stay there and help your people._

xXx

Jaime Lannister has been found. He had been hiding away in Dorne, disguised with a beard and a shaved head, wanting to be near at least one of his children.

However, one day Myrcella spotted him and reported his presence to her good-father. When asked why, she merely said, “It is the right thing to do.”

He was brought to King’s landing in chains, looking skinny and dirty, to stand before the king.

Luckily, Gendry is there as well.

When Jaime asks for mercy, Gendry speaks before his father or Tyrion can. “It is not only us from whom you need to ask mercy,” he says. “You pushed an innocent boy from a tower window. You tried to kill him because he saw you fucking your sister.”

“What? How do you know this?” Tyrion asks, looking at Gendry with a shocked expression on his mismatched face. Robert looks equally shocked.

Jaime now looks terrified, but he at least has the sense to keep his mouth closed.

“Brandon Stark has regained his memory of the incident and gave a full report to his family,” he explains. “As you know, I keep regular correspondence with Lady Arya Stark, and she has asked that Ser Jaime be brought to Winterfell to answer for this crime.” He looks directly at Jaime and says, “She wants you to know that the North remembers.”

Jaime hangs his head, knowing he is doomed to death or worse. Only he doesn’t know if he will meet his fate here, in King’s Landing, or in the unforgiving lands of the North.

“What say you, your grace?” Tyrion asks. Gendry notices that he hardly looks at his brother. He had heard that they were once close, but it seems this is no longer the case.

“I no longer have the energy to deal with this incestuous traitor. I just want him gone. Let Winterfell have him,” Robert declares. “We will put together an envoy to see he arrives there _safely_.”

“Thank you… Father,” Gendry answers. “My lord Hand, do you wish to see the account from Lady Arya?”

Tyrion gives Gendry a long, hard look. “No, I don’t believe I do. I don’t trust many people in this city, but I trust you, your grace.”

“Take him to the black cells,” Robert says. “The envoy will depart in two days’ time.”

“Tyrion…” Jaime pleads as he is dragged to the cells. “Tyrion, please…”

“I am sorry, brother. But this is a sentence you wrote yourself,” Tyrion sadly says, just loud enough for his brother to hear.

Gendry follows Robert as he walks to his solar.

“What is it, lad?” Robert asks.

“I want to lead the envoy to Winterfell,” he says.

Robert stops. “Why?”

“It is an opportunity for me to show leadership. To prove I can command,” Gendry answers, choosing his words carefully.

Robert narrows his eyes. “Can you tell me this request has nothing to do with Ned Stark’s youngest daughter?”

Gendry straightens his shoulders and meets his father’s gaze, noting how he has to look slightly down to do so. “I cannot and will not. You know we are friends, and I would like to see her.”

“Hm,” Robert grunts. “I expect she is nearing ten and seven years by now.”

“And?”

“And, I am quite surprised Ned hasn’t found a match for her yet.”

“Lady Arya would be a difficult match for most men,” Gendry evasively says.

“Most, but not all,” Robert replies, clapping his son on the shoulder once before starting to walk again. “You may lead the envoy.”

“Thank you, Father,” Gendry says, falling into step beside him again.

“Don’t disappoint me, lad.”

“I won’t.”

xXx

_Dearest Arya,_

_I must keep this letter brief, as I have much to do._

_Jaime Lannister has been found, and is in King’s Landing. I have made your request, and it has been granted. He will be brought to Winterfell to stand trial attempting to murder your brother._

_An envoy will be leaving King’s Landing in two days. Grand Maester Pycelle is writing the official notice that will be sent to your father, but if my letter finds you first, please inform your parents of this news._

_I have asked Robert for his leave to lead the envoy north, and he has granted my request. I will be bringing Ser Jaime to you myself, along with 25 men._

_Which is why I have much to do._

_Do not write back, as I will not be able to receive your correspondence on the road._

_I will see you in a few moons._

  
_Yours always,_

_Gendry_

xXx

Arya stares at the letter. It is the shortest one he has written, but it is also the heaviest.

Jaime Lannister captured and being brought here.

He addressed her as “dearest” and signed it “Yours always.”

He is coming here. To Winterfell.

_To merely bring Jaime, or to see me as well?_

She clutches the parchment in her hand and hurries away to find her father.

xXx

Winterfell looms large in the distance, a giant gray imposition on the horizon. Gendry openly gapes at it. It is much bigger than he imagined. It almost looks bigger than the Red Keep, but perhaps that is because the Keep is surrounded by other buildings and Winterfell is surrounded by nothing but trees.

A scout gallops out to greet them and escort them the rest of the way. Gendry exchanges brief pleasantries with the young man, then spurs his horse forward to ride abreast with him. The scout appears surprised, but says nothing.

Once they are through the walls, he can see the Stark family waiting there. He recognizes Ned and assumes the woman at his side is Lady Stark. She is holding the hand of a little boy who must be Rickon, the youngest. There is a young man beside Ned that is likely his oldest son, Robb, and beside him can only be Hodor, with Brandon on his back and Tommen standing in front of him. Just as his eyes land on Arya, she bolts forward, running towards him.

He swings down from his horse, unable to contain his grin, even when he hears Lady Stark’s indignant and embarrassed cry of, “Arya!”

When Arya Stark throws herself at him and wraps not only her arms but her legs around him, Gendry catches her as though she weighs nothing and wraps his arms around her small frame. He thinks he could die in this very moment and be a happy man.

King’s Landing is his home, but somehow, Arya has just made Winterfell his home as well.

“Hello, m’lady,” he greets, squeezing her back just as tightly.

She laughs and loosens her hold on him. He sets her back on her feet and she dips an exaggerated curtsey. “Welcome to Winterfell, your grace.”

He rolls his eyes and follows her to greet the rest of her family.

“Lord Stark, good to see you again,” Gendry greets.

Ned clasps his hand and says, “Your Grace, we are honored to have you.” Then he pulls Gendry into a hug and says, “It’s good to see you, lad.” He releases him and turns to his wife. “My wife Catelyn, and my oldest son and heir, Robb.”

“Lady Stark, my lord, I am honored to finally meet you,” Gendry greets. “I wish the circumstances that brought me here were happier ones, but it is very nice to finally see Winterfell.”

Lady Stark smiles. “On the contrary, this is not a grim occasion. We finally have the answer to what happened to our Brandon, and justice will be served at last,” she says, smiling up at Bran.

“Gendry, this is Brandon and Rickon,” Arya introduces her two younger brothers. She is still standing beside the prince. “And of course you remember Tommen.”

Gendry smiles at the boys, graciously receiving their respectful greetings. He even shakes their hands, which makes Rickon beam brightly and stand as tall as he can.

“And this must be Hodor,” Gendry says, smiling at the huge man.

“Hodor,” Hodor agrees.

“Arya, would you like to give his grace a tour of our home?” Ned asks. 

“All right,” Arya says. 

“I will have your men and horses seen to, and Ser Jaime will be shown to a modest room and be kept under guard. I’m afraid what is left of our cells are in no shape to hold anything,” Ned adds.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. And please, call me Gendry. We know each other well enough for that, I think,” Gendry says.

Ned nods. “I agree.”

“Come on,” Arya says, plucking Gendry’s sleeve. “You’re not too cold, are you?”

“Can I come?” Rickon asks, clearly enchanted by their guest.

“It is time for your lessons, Rickon,” Catelyn says, giving Arya a strangely knowing look as she ushers the boys back into the house. “Arya, please do not run the prince ragged, and be back in time for you to both clean up for dinner.”

“Of course, Mother,” Arya answers. “We’ll do the grounds first. And there’s one place I know you want to see,” she tells Gendry, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her, paying no heed to the puzzled looks she is getting from the King’s Landing envoy.

“The forge?” Gendry asks, his voice full of hope.

She turns and grins up at him. “I thought Mikken might like another set of trained eyes to look at his plans for Bran’s wheeled chair,” she says.

“I would love that,” he replies as they walk into the courtyard. “Arya,” he says, tugging her hand just enough to make her stop.

“Yes?”

“It’s… really good to see you.”

He looks at her, really looks for the first time, now that they are somewhat alone. She is as beautiful as he remembered. More so. Her hair is a bit longer, and while she is still very petite, the childish roundness to her face has diminished. Even dressed in breeches and a long tunic and leather jerkin, she is undeniably a woman.

And she is looking up with him the way a woman looks at a man, and it takes nearly all of his self-control not to draw her to him and kiss her until they can no longer remember their names.

“You too,” she replies, a soft smile on her face. “Come.”

xXx

They waste little time getting to the trial, holding it the very next morning in the great hall.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, you attempted to murder my child while you were a guest in my home,” Ned Stark starts, glowering down at the shackled man kneeling on the floor before him. “Such a crime is punishable by death.”

Jaime can only nod, apparently having made peace with his impending demise during the long journey north.

“However, as your attempt failed and my son lives, I will leave your fate in his hands,” Ned says.

Jaime’s head snaps up and looks with wide eyes at the face of the child he pushed out of a tower window to hide his shame. He is still just a boy, but has the eyes of a much older, wiser man. He finds it rather disconcerting and can only hold his gaze for a moment before he has to look away.

“I understand the reason why you did what you did,” Bran says at length. “But that does not mean I forgive you. You were attempting to cover one crime by committing another one, and while you did not take my life, you took my legs. You did not kill me, but you killed my dreams of becoming a knight. I wished to be a brave, honorable knight. Like you were supposed to have been.”

Jaime hangs his head in shame as he is dressed down by a boy.

“However, I do not feel it is my place to send any man to his death,” he concludes. “But you cannot go unpunished for your crimes of treason, incest, and attempted murder.”

“Do you have a punishment in mind, Bran, or would you like assistance?” Ned asks.

“Send him to the Wall. They always need capable men,” Bran says, and Jaime sighs in relief until the boy adds, “Let him explain the reason he is there to my brother and uncle.”

Ned’s lips twitch as he wills away the rueful smile that wants to stretch them. “The Wall it is. I will send a raven to the Lord Commander. Perhaps he will allow Ben and Jon to come and retrieve Ser Jaime.”

xXx

The atmosphere is lighter in Winterfell once justice has been dispensed. Gendry disappeared after the noon meal, but Arya knew where to find him. She wanted to spar, and she wanted to spar with him.

She walked down to the forge and found him looking much like he did when she first met him on the Street of Steel in King’s Landing. Wearing a plain linen shirt, leather guards on his wrists, sweaty and covered in soot.

She steps closer, still moving silently so as not to disturb him. She knows how dangerous it can be to startle a smith, and waits until he pauses what he is doing to make her presence known.

“Lady Stark,” he greets, half-smiling at her. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Where is Mikken?” she asks, stepping closer.

“Eating. He’ll be back soon,” he answers, setting his hammer down to walk towards her.

“Want to spar with me?” she asks. “I want to see how good you are with that warhammer of yours.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Um, all right. I will need to put something more suitable on…”

“We can go to the armory. I’m sure we have something that will work for you,” she says.

He nods, then cleans himself up as best he can with a bucket of water and a cloth.

As they walk to the armory, Gendry realizes they are very alone and he has words that are nearly bursting out of him.

“Arya,” he says, catching her hand. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks, turning to face him. They are in a rather secluded area, on a path surrounded by a stone wall on one side and a hedge on the other.

“Nothing. It’s just… I…” he trails off. He looks a little lost for a moment, then angry, and then he squares his shoulders and sighs, “Oh, sod it all.” He pulls on her hand, roughly bringing her towards him until her body collides with his. Then he dips his head and kisses her. It is slow and soft and almost innocent, and he hopes it conveys the words that have been pushing at his brain for many moons now but refuse to form.

“Oh,” she breathes when they separate.

“I know you have always said you don’t want to marry, but… I thought… if it is your choice…” Gendry haltingly says.

“What are you saying?” Arya asks, looking up at him. His arms are still around her, and he doesn’t seem to have any intention of removing them.

“I’m saying I want to ask your father if I may bring you back to King’s Landing with me. As my betrothed,” he says.

“Gendry, I… I’m surprised you’re not betrothed already,” she remarks, too overwhelmed to be able to give him a proper answer yet. “You’re getting a little old, aren’t you?”

“It’s not for lack of trying, believe me,” he sighs, his head flopping downward. His forehead softly lands against hers and he leaves it there. “I have managed to resist so far, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold it off.”

“So I would be, what? The least objectionable option?” she asks.

He lifts his head. “What? No! Arya, I want to marry you, don’t you see that? Just you; no one else. Because I… I like you. Rather a lot.”

“Oh,” she says, laughing a little bit at her obliviousness. “I like you, too, Gendry. Rather more than a lot.”

He grins, then reminds her, “You never gave me an answer. About asking your father.”

“I know I didn’t,” she says, looking away, unable to stand the piercing blue of his eyes.

“Well?”

“Kiss me again first.”

He immediately obliges, lowering his head to hers once more and catching her lips in a soft but thorough kiss, his arms tightening around her small body to bring her closer.

This second kiss is nowhere near innocent. In seconds he is leaning further into her, tilting his head and coaxing her lips open with his needy tongue, and she responds not only willingly, but eagerly, her fingers clutching his shirt and his hair until he groans and pulls back to look down into her dazed eyes.

“Yes,” she breathes. “Yes, you may talk to my father.”

Joyously, he kisses her again, unable to help himself.

“But I’m going with you,” she adds.

“Oh, thank you,” he sighs. “I think I need you there.”

xXx

“I want to have a Northern wedding. Before we return to King’s Landing,” Arya says at dinner. Their conversation with Ned and Catelyn went almost too well, as neither of Arya’s parents were surprised. In fact, they were anticipating it. So Arya felt no inhibitions about bringing up the topic in front of the entire family.

“You’re getting married? To who?” Rickon asks.

“To _whom_ ,” Catelyn corrects. “Arya, I think the king will want a large ceremony in the sept. He will likely relish the opportunity for a public spectacle to fully divert attention away from his marriage scandal.”

“Honestly, I don’t really care what the king wants,” Arya answers.

“Why can’t we do both?” Gendry asks. “Have the Northern ceremony here, and then have the big public one in King’s Landing later.”

“I like that idea,” Arya agrees.

“Is it Gendry? Are you marrying Gendry?” Rickon asks.

“When did this happen? Is that why you brought Ser Jaime yourself?” Bran asks.

“Boys,” Catelyn sighs, shushing them. “That is a good compromise, your grace,” she says.

“Gendry, please,” he reminds her.

“I have no problem with this idea,” Ned chimes in. “When do you plan to return to King’s Landing?”

“I had originally intended to stay until Ser Jaime is taken to the Wall, but Maester Luwin informed me that the weather will be turning foul soon, so I hope to avoid that. Perhaps another sennight,” Gendry answers. “Will that give you enough time to collect whatever belongings you wish to bring?” he asks Arya.

“Yes, I think so,” she answers. Some of her things haven’t even been unpacked from when they returned to Winterfell.

“Wait, you’re going to go back to King’s Landing with him now?” Rickon asks. “Can I have your room? Mother, can I have Arya’s room when she’s gone? Hers is so much larger!”

“Rickon, we will discuss this later,” Catelyn says, trying not to snap at her exuberant youngest son. “When would you like to have this godswood ceremony?”

“Tonight?” Arya asks.

“Arya,” her father sighs. “You do not need to rush into everything, you know.”

“Three days then,” she says. “If we are to leave in seven, then three should be acceptable.”

“Three it is,” Ned allows. “Cat, are you all right with three days?”

“Does your father know about this?” Cat asks Gendry instead of answering.

Gendry pauses a moment before answering, “Not specifically, no. But I think he will be even less surprised than the two of you were. But I will send him a raven immediately after dinner, so the news will reach him before we do.”

“Very well. Three days hence then,” Catelyn agrees.

Arya smiles. “Thank you, Mother.”

xXx

Three evenings later, when Arya enters her room to prepare for her wedding, she finds a folded piece of parchment on her vanity table. Curious, she picks it up and opens it.

_My Dearest Arya,_

_I look forward to seeing you tonight in the Godswood where we will become man and wife in the eyes of the old gods._

_And I look forward to spending every night hence with you as my wife, my companion in all things, my equal. I will not lord over you or make you do anything you do not wish to do. You are not my property, you are my partner, and any man who dares suggest otherwise will learn that I do indeed have Baratheon blood running through my veins._

_Until tonight, my love._

_I am now and will forever be_

_Your Gendry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this, I realized that this idea was actually better suited to a full, multi-chapter fic. I may one day expand it into one, but that's still a "maybe" right now.


End file.
